


Carry On

by Citlali



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hospitals, Minor Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 15:27:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5461577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Citlali/pseuds/Citlali
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"How pissed off are you at me right now?"<br/>"On a scale?” Matt asks.<br/>Matt has a good reason to be pissed off at Foggy, but he's still the first person he calls when he needs help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carry On

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Inaccurate medicine and frustrating hospital experiences.  
> Inspired by several kinkmeme prompts.

“Why did you even come here if you’re just going to go back out again?” Foggy asked. 

Riots were taking place all over Hell's Kitchen and beyond. People were fed up and Foggy didn’t blame them. There were villains with weird technology, ray guns, holographic monsters, aliens, evil robots, mind control. There were good guys wearing masks like Daredevil, some guy with special ‘gifts’ who crawled up on buildings leaving sticky ropes and residue all over windows, walls and signposts for the city crews to clean up, a crazy nut with guns who didn’t seem to get the memo that real heroes don’t kill. 

These weren’t the Avengers. These masks were nuts. 

 _Including Daredevil_ , because what the hell was he thinking? What sane person thought it would be a good idea to go out into a riot protesting against the lack of police intervention against crazy people in masks while dressed in a mask?

“What as I supposed to do? People are getting hurt out there. Do you really think blind lawyer Matt Murdock would have better luck stopping this?” Matt asked. 

“Yes! Better than going out there dressed in red polyester-”

“It’s not polyester. It’s a blend of-”

“Matt, you can’t stop this. This is mass hysteria. The only reason it got this bad is because some nut went out there and tried to stop it.”

“I didn’t cause this,” Matt argued. 

Foggy threw up his hands. “I know that. We were still at work when this shit fest started, that doesn’t mean you aren’t a part of it though.”

“There are people getting hurt out there and the police aren’t doing anything.” 

“Yes, Matt. Exactly. You already got hurt out there. What the hell happened anyway, you can’t even walk straight. What did they do to you?” Foggy grabbed another wad of paper towels and ran them under the cold water tap before carefully pressing them against Matt’s head, dabbing at the blood in Matt’s hair going along the side of his face and down his neck. And that wasn’t all. He’d been limping and holding his right arm very still as he climbed in the window. He still had his right arm tucked protectively close to his side.

“It was an old man with a baseball bat.” Matt’s voice became more of a mumble and Foggy assumed he heard him wrong.

“A what?”

“He was defending his store. You know, the sandwich place we got to?”

“They broke into Mr. LeClair’s place?”

“They were trying to. I stopped them.”

“Nice old Mr. LeClair did this to you?”

“Yes, and he has a really good swing. You should consider recruiting him for that baseball team you keep dreaming of setting up.”

“I just might. So, he mistook you for another rioter? I can see why you didn’t defend yourself, but Matt, you’re done for the night. If you try going out there again you’re only going to get hurt worse, or killed.” 

Matt, using his left arm, took the paper towels from Foggy’s hand and pushed him away. “I don’t know why I thought coming here would be a good idea,” he grimaced as he pushed himself more upright, getting ready to stand.

“It was the first good idea you had all night,” Foggy corrected. “Matt. Stay, please. And if you won’t stay then at least rest for a bit. Please? How about a coffee? Then you can go.”

Matt eased himself back down. He sighed and leaned back into the sofa, getting blood on the old blanket Foggy had hastily thrown down just for that purpose. This wasn’t Foggy's first trip to the injured-Matt-rodeo. He went to the kitchen and started his coffee maker. 

That was when he got the idea. That was when his heart started racing. 

“I know you’re worried about me, but I know what I’m doing.”  Matt called out from the couch.  

And, oh shit, Matt could hear his heart pounding and he thought it was because Foggy was worried about him. Matt wasn’t wrong there, Foggy was worried about him, but it was more than just that. “I know you do,” he answered. “Will you at least take some ibuprofen?” 

Matt grumbled. “Fine.”

Foggy went to the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. There, on the shelf, were the sleeping pills. Good stuff. Prescription good. Right beside the ibuprofen. He shouldn’t. He picked up the prescription bottle and shook two pills into his hand. They were slightly bigger than the ibuprofen and the wrong color. If Matt figured out what he was doing… 

He grabbed a handful of gauze packets along with them and brought them back to the living room. 

Matt was still there, still slumped back on the couch. Foggy ripped open one of the gauze packets and switched it out for the paper towels. There was so much blood. At least he was bleeding less than before. “Keep the pressure on it.” Foggy instructed. 

“Yes, nurse,” Matt grumbled. 

“Hardy-har-har. Where is your nurse tonight, by the way?” 

“I don’t know. She moved. If she wanted me to find her, she’d call me.”

“Or you could call her.” Foggy suggested. “Did she change her number?”

Matt answered with a non-committal mumble. “The coffee is ready.”  

Foggy sighed and went to the kitchen where indeed, the coffee was ready. He’d made a whole pot. It wasn’t like he was going to get any more sleep tonight.  He pulled the mugs out of the cupboard, picking the grumpy cat mug for Matt like he always did. 

“I’ll pass you the pills first and you can wash it down with the coffee after.” 

Still left handed, Matt left the gauze sticking to his head and held out his hand for the pills. 

There was still time to back down. Foggy barely hesitated. He placed the pills in Matt’s palm and he tossed them back without a thought. Foggy passed him the coffee to wash it down with. 

It was done. 

Generally, it only took fifteen minutes for Foggy to start feeling the effects of the pills, and he only ever took one. Would it work faster on Matt because he gave him two? Or would it hit extra hard. And, oh my god, what if Matt left before the pills could take effect?  

Matt took another sip of his coffee.

“You know I love you, right?” Foggy asked. 

“I know.” Matt answered. “I’m sorry.” 

“So am I. I’ll put on the news.” Foggy turned on the TV. The local news station was covering the riots via live reporters and helicopters. A bakery was on fire and residents of an apartment building were being evacuated. Foggy could hear the not so distant sirens of the fire trucks out the window even as he watched it on TV. “It’s really close, isn’t it?”

"It is." Matt rested for another ten minutes. He braced himself for a moment, and stood up, pulling the mask back over his head and taking several steps towards the fire escape window. 

“Matt?” Foggy stood up with him, standing close.

“Foggy. I feel,” Matt put a hand up to his head. “There's something wrong. I feel dizzy.” He stumbled and caught the wall for support. He looked miserable. 

Foggy placed a hand on his shoulder. “Matt, you need to sit down.” he said softly. “I drugged you.” 

“What?”

“Sleeping pills.” Foggy explained. “You’re staying here.” 

Matt pushed Foggy’s hand off his shoulder and took several shaky steps away. “What did you give me?”

“Sleeping pills." Foggy repeated. "You aren't going anywhere.” 

“No, Foggy I can’t. I need to be out there.” 

“I know you _think_ you have to.” 

“They’re calling for help.”  

“Who is?”

“I can hear them. I need to do something.” Matt swayed slightly before throwing out his hand to steady himself against a chair that wasn’t there.

Foggy caught him instead, gently easing the mask back off and leading him back to the sofa. He helped Matt lie down.

“I can hear them.  Calling for help, crying.”  Matt squeezed his eyes shut.  “It hurts, it hurts to listen.”

“It’s going to be okay.” Foggy promised and turned the TV to a channel playing music. He sat by Matt’s side as he slowly succumbed to sleep and stayed by his side for the rest of the night. 

Matt was gone in the morning.

* * *

 Foggy walked to the office.  The glass on the sidewalk crunched under his shoes and he stepped over various piles of trash and debris. He passed a car with four flat tires abandoned in the street and the remains of a bin fire in an alley. He passed Mr. LeClair’s sandwich shop. Thanks to Daredevil and Mr. LeClair’s apparently impressive baseball swing, it seemed relatively untouched by the chaos around it. 

Their office building was slightly north of the riot zone. Foggy used his key and let himself in. He’d already talked to Karen and made her promise to stay home today. He didn’t expect to see or hear from Matt. He did what he’d had to do. If he had to do it over, he would do it again.

There wasn’t much of a point in being at work today, but it was better than sitting at home in the empty apartment thinking about how he’d drugged his best friend.  

He wished he’d had a chance to talk to Matt before he’d left that morning. 

He’d called him though and left a message, saying he hoped he’d made it home safe and to please call.

Foggy left the lights off and opened the blinds. It was enough light to read by. The Pirelli arsen file was on his desk. He decided to start with that, take another read through the police reports to determine if there was anything he could use to their advantage in there. 

It was mid-afternoon when his cell phone rang.  _Matt._

"Hello?"

There was silence for a moment.  And then a deep breath. "Matt, you okay?"

_"Are you busy?"_

"What do you need?"

_"I’m at the hospital."_

"At what hospital?” Foggy echoed.

_“Can you come?”_

“Yeah sure."  It wasn’t all that far away.  Cabs weren't back on the street yet, but he could walk there.  "I’ll have to walk it.  Might take about half an hour but I’ll be there as fast as I can.  Is that okay?"

 _"Not going anywhere."_   Matt said, and hung up.  

It took just under thirty minutes to walk the distance. Foggy ran up the steps and towards the doors when his cell phone rang again.  

_"Look to the right."_

Foggy looked.  Matt was there, sitting and leaning against the wall.  Foggy skipped a step just seeing him and nearly hit the door with his face before abruptly turning.  Foggy knew Matt well enough that he could infer a lot just by the clothes his friend chose to wear.  It was the soft light gray zipper sweater and black sweats. It didn’t look like Matt had anything on under the sweater which usually meant he hadn't been able to maneuver anything more complicated than that. 

"You need help getting back home?" Foggy asked. 

"I haven’t gone in yet."

"Oh. Why?"

Matt’s expression fell for a moment before getting back under control, but he didn't answer. 

"Right." Foggy answered. "How pissed off are you at me right now?"

“On a scale?” Matt asked.

“I'm not sorry I stopped you.” Foggy warned him.

“I didn't expect you to be.” Matt acknowledged. 

“So, why haven’t you gone in to get yourself checked out yet?” Foggy asked again.  

“Will you stay with me?” Matt asked instead, his voice barely loud enough to be heard.

“If you want me to.” 

He stood up and helped Matt to his feet.  He was limping even worse than he’d been the night before, but Matt had been running on adrenaline and Foggy doubted he'd even realized how badly he'd been injured. Now he just looked beaten up and tired. Matt placed his hand on Foggy’s elbow and Foggy guided him inside.

The clerk at the emergency desk took one look at Matt and directed him down the hall to the accessibility assistance desk. As far as Foggy could see, there was no one at that station and it didn’t look like there had been for quite some time.

“I brought an advocate.” Matt explained. 

She looked at Foggy and nodded.  She passed him a consent form and privacy declaration, sighed as a witness, and then handed over a clipboard of health insurance intake forms and told him to wait for their number to be called. They went and sat down; Foggy balanced the clipboard on his lap while he read out the information and filled it in as Matt directed while Matt dug his wallet out of his front sweater pocket, left handed again, and passed the whole thing to Foggy. Foggy pulled out his insurance card, conveniently typed in print as well as raised Braille. 

When the screen showed Matt’s number, Foggy led him over to the nurses desk who took him into a small curtained area.  She looked from one to the other.  

“He’s my advocate,”  Matt explained again.  

She sighed and told him to sit down.  “Take off your glasses.” 

Matt took them off with his left hand and handed them over to Foggy to hold.  The right side of his face was bruised from his ear up to this hairline, and even though he'd cleaned up from last night, his hair was sticking up where his head had been bleeding. “I- uh - there was a lot going on. Stores were getting looted. I think someone hit me with a baseball bat.”  Matt explained hesitantly. “I can hear, I mean I can feel the bones in my right wrist grinding, there's something wrong with my left knee and maybe my ribs, but I think they're just bruised."

"And his head." Foggy added.

“Do you want to report an assault?” The nurse asked.

“No.”  

“Why didn’t you come in last night?”

“I didn’t think it was bad.  Especially not compared to what other people are dealing with.”  

She huffed. “Take off your sweater.” She instructed, and Matt moved slowly, careful not to use his hand but bracing the fabric with his right forearm while pulling down the zipper with his left. Foggy moved forward to help with unlatching the bottom of the zipper and eased it carefully off Matt’s arm. His torso was mottled purple and Foggy hissed in a breath in sympathy. 

“Looks bad?” Matt asked.

“Yeah.” 

The nurse walked around to wrap a blood pressure cuff around his arm. The machine whirred to life pumping air into the cuff and releasing as the readout appeared on the monitor. She then clipped a fresh cap on the thermometer and held it close to his face.  "Open." She instructed.

“Matt, she has a thermometer.”  Foggy supplied.  Matt opened his mouth.  

“Under the tongue, keep your mouth closed.”  The nurse instructed tonelessly.  

Foggy watched carefully.  He read out the values of the blood pressure cuff and the temperature as they appeared. Both normal. Foggy helped Matt get his sweater back on and zipped up then gave him back his glasses.

She took the clipboard and tore off the page she needed and instructed Foggy to return the rest to the administration desk and then wait to get called.  Matt put his glasses back on and they returned to the waiting area.  

Matt sat with his back as straight as he could make it.

“Your ribs are hurting?”  Foggy asked.

He nodded. “And a headache.”  

“From the sleeping pills?”

“More likely the head wound.”  

Back in College Foggy remembered frequent occasions when Matt had suffered from headaches. Those were typically the same days Matt complained about everything being too loud, which in hindsight made sense, but at the time Foggy had assumed was a migraine symptom. Matt had never asked him to be quiet though, it was the opposite. “Talk to me," he'd ask. "Your voice gives me something to focus on.” 

“Do you want me to read something?” Foggy offered.

“Please.”  

Foggy found a Readers Digest. Foggy picked it up and skipped straight to the 'lighter side' page.  Eventually, Matt relaxed, he leaned sideways into Foggy’s shoulder, listening intently.  

“Matthew Murdock.”  

Foggy gently shook Matt’s shoulder, and they stood up.  He led Matt towards the nurse in the hall.  It was a tired looking young man with drooping eyes and a very bored look on his face.  He led them down the hall to a room with curtains.  He stared at Matt for a moment.  

“Do you want accessibility assistance?”

“I’m his advocate.” Foggy explained. The nurse shrugged. “Room 12. Change and wait; a doctor will be with you soon.”  

Foggy led Matt into the small curtained room and pulled the curtain closed behind him. He got Matt to sit on the exam table, and he tore open the packaged patient gown and helped Matt change.  He noticed Matt cringe at the feel of the paper gown.  

“Mr. LeClair must have been major league in his younger days; you look like you got run over by a truck.”  Foggy said helpfully.  

“Thanks.”  

“Cold?”

“Yeah.”  

Foggy looked around for a blanket; there was none.  He passed Matt back his sweatshirt.  Foggy sat on the metal chair beside the bed and Matt stayed where he was.  There wasn’t a lot of room to move.  They waited.  

“Talk to me.”  Matt said softly.  

“About what?”

“Whatever you want.”  

“Uhm.” And it figured that for once Foggy couldn’t think of a single thing to say. He should have brought the magazine with him.

Matt spoke instead, “Tell me why you have prescription sleeping pills in your bathroom.”

“How do you know they’re prescription?”

“I found them in your medicine cabinet before I left this morning. They're in a prescription bottle. They're strong, Foggy, I felt like I was getting pulled underwater.”  

“Oh.  That’s fair I guess.”  Foggy allowed.  He did drug his friend, that kind of gave his friend a pass to snoop in his medicine cabinet.  “I’ve had trouble sleeping.”  

“Since you found out about what I do?”

“Not everything is about you, buddy.” Foggy laughed, though admittedly he had renewed the prescription and started using them more regularly at that time. “Since quitting Landman and Zack.” 

“I knew you were worried, but why didn’t you tell me it was that bad?”

“I had trouble sleeping, it’s not exactly news bulletin worthy. Why didn’t you tell me about your extracurricular activities?”

“Okay.” Matt agreed. “How often do you take them?”

“Depends.”

They were quiet for a minute.  

“We don't have to discuss last night. I just want to listen to your voice.” Matt urged again.

Foggy cleared his throat.  “That bad?”

“Yes.”

“Did I ever tell you about my Aunt Margaret?”  

“The one that smells like fish?”

“No.  You are thinking about my Aunt Harriet.  My Aunt Margaret is the one you met last Christmas. The one with the bells on her sweater.”

“Oh, cinnamon and mothballs.”  Matt grinned.  

“Sure. She used to manage one of those holiday stores. I think that’s where the bells came from. You remember what I told you her sweater looked like? It was a tree and the bells were decoration.” Foggy talked for nearly an hour, filling Matt in on the lives of his extended family members. No one checked in at all the entire time, and he started to wonder if maybe they’d been forgotten about.  Did that happen? Did nurses put patients into exam rooms and forget about them? How long were they supposed to wait before reminding someone they were there?

“Should I go check and make sure they still remember we’re here?”  Foggy asked Matt. Matt turned his head a bit, listening.  

“They’re busy. Really busy.” Matt’s fingers curled tightly around the edge of the exam bed he was sitting on.

“You okay?”

“There were fires last night, people lighting trash on fire and it spread to several buildings. There’s a, a five-year-old girl somewhere, I can hear but I don’t know where. There are nurses and doctors around her. She was brought in alone, I think her parents might have died. I could hear her breathing. I can’t hear her anymore. She stopped just a couple minutes ago.”

“Stopped?”

“Her heart. Everything.”

“You heard her die?”

Matt nodded. "They are trying to revive her." He turned his head suddenly toward the curtain just as a doctor entered.  He looked at the two of them and focused on Matt.  

The doctor didn't introduce himself.  “Sweater off.”

“You can’t see it, but his name tag says, Dr. Taggart.”  Foggy said deliberately emphasizing the _you can’t see it_ part for the doctor’s sake. At this point, most people apologized and started paying closer attention to how they interacted with Matt, but Dr. Taggart didn't bother. 

"Take off your glasses." The doctor instructed. Matt passed his glasses to Foggy.

He examined Matt's head first. "How did this happen?"

"I live near the riot area, I got caught in a crowd on my way home. Wrong place at the wrong time; I think someone had a baseball bat." Matt explained.

"Loss of consciousness? 

"No."

"Dizziness?"

"Not much. I don't think I have a concussion." Matt added. 

The doctor grunted something and performed several more tests before moving on. He took Matt’s arm and started palpating the wrist.  Foggy watched Matt frown as the doctor moved his wrist into flexion and extension and then draw a sudden breath as it was rotated.

Dr. Taggart wrote something on a clipboard and then moved from Matt's wrist and ripped the paper gown several inches up the knee. It didn't escape Foggy’s notice that Matt flinched at the sudden noise and movement. Was that necessary? 

“Lie back.”  

Matt reached back with his left hand and gingerly turned to the side and eased himself back.  

The doctor examined his knee, lifting his leg, flexing and straightening it the knee, rotating the lower leg from the ankle.  Foggy suspected it was obvious what hurt because of Matt’s facial expressions, but the bastard didn’t bother asking.  He put Matt’s leg down and wrote a few more things down.  

Matt sat up, carefully.  Which reminded Foggy.  “Can you check his ribs too.  They’re pretty bruised up.”  

The doctor continued his exam.  “Stand.”  

Matt eased himself off the table, keeping his weight on his good leg.  The doctor placed a hand on his shoulder to turn him around, again ripping the gown to open it at the back.  He palpated the ribs.  Foggy watched Matt’s expression change when he found the sore spots.  

“Take a deep breath in.” The doctor ordered, his hands on Matt’s side. 

Matt breathed in. 

“Okay, out.” 

"I'll order an x-ray." The doctor wrote a few more things down on the clipboard and then hooked it to the edge of the exam bed and walked out.  

Foggy ducked out after him and caught up before he disappeared into another room.  “That’s it then?  Should he get dressed?”  

“No.  I’ll be back.”  

Matt already had the clipboard in his hands when Foggy returned, and he passed it over.  “There’s too many indents. I can’t make anything out.” 

Foggy took it and looked.  “Well, at least this explains why Dr. Taggart didn’t say much. This doesn't look like English.” 

Matt sighed and sat back down on the bed, shifting uncomfortably to find a comfortable position.  

“Can’t be good on your ribs to be sitting hunched like that.  You want the chair instead?”  

“Yeah.  Thanks.”  They switched places.  Foggy handed Matt back his sweater.  Foggy swung his legs.  “You think he’ll notice we’ve switched places?”

“I kind of doubt it.”  

“Is this what it’s like here when you come alone?”

“I don’t come here alone.” 

“I can see why. When was the last time?”  

“Not since long ago.” Matt answered. “You?”

“The night of the explosions; that was my first time. I dislocated my elbow when I was a kid, but my Aunt Harriet is a chiropractor. She was able to pop it back into place.”  

“Aunt Harriet. She's the one that smells like fish.”

Foggy laughed. “Yep. The experience has made me a firm believer in the hospital system and their nice opiates.”  

A nurse breezed in a few minutes later and looked at Foggy then looked at the chart.  “Mr. Murdock?”  

“Yes.”  Matt answered.  She looked at the chair and then scowled at Foggy.  

“Hi,” he said, and that only made her scowl deeper.  

“Doctor Taggart ordered x-rays.  Get dressed and follow the red line on the wall to Radiology.”   

And she left.   

Matt sighed and got up. Foggy passed him his clothes, helped him get dressed again and off they went in search of Radiology. Even being able to see, Foggy ended up following the orange line rather than the red, which led them to Psychiatric Health, where they were told to follow the green line until it intersected with blue which would lead back to the red.

"Foggy, are you color blind?" Matt asked, only half in jest. 

"No. These lines are faded and I swear the red looked closer to purple. How was I to know there's no purple line?" Foggy joked and found a bench for Matt to sit down and rest his knee for a minute before heading out in search of Radiology again. "How about you? Maybe you can smell our way out of here?"

"Everything smells like body functions and antiseptic." Matt grimaced. "And I'm trying not to hear as much as possible."

Eventually, Foggy did find the right lines to follow and they ended up in another crowded waiting room where Matt was instructed to go change into another paper hospital gown. Foggy was directed back to the waiting room while a nurse insisted that Matt wait in a wheelchair in the hall, which Foggy protested against but was overruled for no specific reason. 

"I'll be fine." Matt insisted. "You'll wait for me?"

Foggy went back to the waiting room, and about an hour later checked in with the desk to ask how things were going with Matt.  

“Are you family?”

“Matt is blind. I'm here as his advocate.” Foggy explained again and considered if this kind of thing was going to start happening frequently they were going to have to come up with something more permanent, like getting married.  He wondered if Matt would go for it.    

She checked her computer. “He’s in surgery.”  

Foggy blinked. “What? Surgery?”

“Yes. They admitted him about forty-five minutes ago.”  

“He just went for x-rays. You were supposed to come get me when he was done.”

“You can follow the yellow line to orthopedics. The nurse at the desk will be able to tell you more there.”

There was no use arguing. Filing the complaint later was going to be very satisfying.  

Foggy followed the yellow line, he checked in with the nurse at the desk, letting the man know that he was there as Matthew Murdock’s advocate. Apparently Matt was already in surgery. They assured Foggy he would be notified when Matt was out of recovery. Foggy took a seat in the waiting room.  Then he set about the task of mentally composing a very scathing letter of complaint to send to the hospital administration offices on how not to treat a patient who is seeing-impaired.  

It took another hour and a half.  The nurse at the desk called his name, and Foggy was instructed to go to room two seventeen.  

Room two seventeen was halfway down the hall consisting of a curtained room with ten beds in total.  All the curtains were open, and Foggy found Matt halfway down.  He picked up a chair from the end of the room and placed it beside Matt’s bed. Matt's right wrist was propped up on a bolster, wrapped heavily in bandages with a tube running underneath. He had an I.V. inserted in his left hand, connected to a bag on a pole beside the head of his bed.

Matt was awake, sort of. His eyelids were open, his eyes moving randomly with whatever thoughts were in his head. Foggy hovered close. Usually, Matt would be aware he was close by now, but this time, Foggy wasn't getting that vibe. “Matt?” He whispered, hoping not to startle him.  

Matt jumped slightly, head turning towards the sound. “Foggy?” Matt made a swipe with his good arm in Foggy’s general direction. Foggy caught his hand before it could pull on the I.V. or collide with the bed rail, and gently held on.  

“Yeah. So, surgery huh?”  

“I thought you left.”

“Did someone tell you that?”

“I asked them to go get you but they didn't come back.”  

“No, Matt. I've been here waiting the whole time.”

“I think they gave me drugs.”  

“I should hope so, buddy.” Foggy leaned over to take a better look at Matt’s bandaged wrist and hand. “They kind of have to when you have surgery. We’ll get it sorted.”  Foggy patted Matt’s shoulder.

Matt explained. “They, uh, had to get a proper angle for the x-ray and I felt it, the bone moved and circulation. It hurt.”

It didn't make a lot of sense, but Foggy figured he understood enough to get the gist of what happened. However they'd moved his hand to take the x-ray had shifted the bone and cut off the circulation to his hand, hence the sudden surgery.

All of a sudden Matt twitched and then curled his shoulder up against his ear, his good arm letting go of Foggy and coming up and covering the other one.  “Matt?”  Foggy asked.

Matt didn't respond. Foggy placed his hand firmly on Matt’s shoulder. “I’m here.”  He knew what this was, why hadn't he ever figured it out before?  He lived with Matt at college for years.  He remembered plenty of times Matt had been either distant and withdrawn, or twitchy and desperate for any kind of distraction. He could only imagine all the things he must have been experiencing.

“Do you really think I had no idea that something was up?” Foggy asked, his voice low. He knew Matt could hear him the way from he tensed slightly. “I’ve known you for years. You think I didn’t know something was up when you started coming to the office with bruises all over you? Did you ever wonder why I started haunting your apartment every night?  I was worried about you.”  

“What did you think it was?”

“I don’t know if this is a conversation we should have while you’re high on pain medicine.” 

Matt nodded. “At least you aren't trying to convince me to get a guide dog anymore.” 

“A guide dog would be awesome. We could make him our office mascot. You’d have to let me name him.”

“Or her.” Matt corrected. Whatever had bothered him a moment ago seemed to have passed and he brought his arm back to latch onto Foggy’s hand again. “I’m pretty sure they’re already named when you get them, and there’s a lot of training.”

“Sounds like you've looked into it before.”

“One of the nuns at the orphanage, Sister Catherine, she wanted me to get one. I think she was like you and just wanted an excuse to get a pet.”

“I don’t need a pet, taking care of you is a full-time job.” Foggy joked. “I’m going to find a doctor or a nurse or someone who knows what is going on and figure out when I can take you home.”  He extracted himself from Matt’s hand and promised to be back right away.

Finally, Foggy was able to find someone who knew something and learned that Matt would be released after the doctor cleared him, which wasn't all that helpful timeline wise but at least it was something to look forward to. It took a few hours. The nurse checked Matt's wrist several times, changed the bandages, and then fitted him with a removable cast to keep the joint immobilized. The whole arm was placed in a sling in an attempt to keep the wrist elevated before they let him sit up.

The physical exam from earlier indicated a torn meniscus in his knee, but for now, the doctor suggested rest and Matt was given instructions to go to the orthopedic store on the main level to buy a brace and crutches. A store that closed two hours ago. The doctor gave Matt a lecture about how close he was to needing surgery on his knee if he wasn't careful. Painkillers were prescribed, and then they were left to their own devices to try and find their way home. 

The hospital staff didn’t seem concerned about how Matt was going to get home in a city shut down after the riots the night before. They didn’t care that they were in Hell’s Kitchen, it was late into the evening, and that they were sending a blind guy on opiates out into the night where looters had supposedly beaten him senseless. Matt wasn’t concerned about any of that, of course, but Foggy couldn't help feeling exasperated on his behalf.

Foggy had managed to call for a cab but he'd been told they'd be in for a wait. What else was new?

“Seriously. How many arms do they think you have?”  Foggy asked as they sat outside on a bench.  “You just had surgery, your arm is in a freaking sling, you’re blind, and they were talking about crutches.  How exactly did they think you were going to pull that one off? You've got one arm to handle two crutches and your white cane, and that seems to me to be two arms extra that they expected you to be able to pull out of your ass.”  

Matt laughed.  “Is that where I keep them?” he leaned back on the bench and looked more relaxed than he had been for a long time and Foggy wondered if it was the painkillers or just the relief of being out of the hospital that put the look of serenity on his face.  

Matt refused to even consider buying crutches but agreed to let Foggy meet him in the morning to come back and buy an appropriate knee brace.  

“Are you sure it was old Mr. LeClair? I’m going to be really disappointed if I recruit him onto my baseball team and he isn’t the batting prodigy you made him out to be.”

“Yeah, it was really him.  I want to go home."

They didn’t talk in the taxi.  They got to Matt’s apartment and then there were the stairs, which showed Foggy just how bad Matt’s knee was feeling, as he took the stairs one step at a time only putting his full weight on his good leg.  They took it slow, and when they finally did get in Matt collapsed on the couch. 

“Foggy.” Matt said tiredly.  

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.” Matt accepted the glass of filtered water Foggy passed him. 

“Anytime. Foggy answered. 

“For last night too. You were right. I wouldn’t have been much help to anyone like this. I just, I couldn't feel it.”

“I shouldn’t have drugged you.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” Matt agreed.

“If you ever need somewhere to rest, or someone to patch you up, you know you’re always welcome to come to my place, right? I hope you still trust me to take care of you.”

“I do.” Matt answered solemnly. “There’s something that’s been bothering me. Those pills, there weren't many left in the bottle. How often do you use them?”

“Only when I can’t sleep.” And it wasn't an answer, but it was all Foggy was willing to say and Matt seemed to accept that.

“I know you've been drinking more, since, lately. You don't mix them, do you?”

“Not often.”  

“Please don’t. If you’ve been drinking and you can’t sleep, or you need to talk, will you call me instead?”  

“I will.” Foggy answered. “And if I tell you you’re not in any shape to go out back out there, will you listen to me?”

“I will.” Matt echoed.  

 

**Author's Note:**

> Cookies and comments, I love them both.


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